18WE HAVE BEEN in Batanes exactly five months and one week today. The days stroll past us in these parts. I hardly remember a time when I didn’t know the little roads that
lead to town, or I didn’t feel the ocean at our feet every morning. We have thrown ourselves to the island’s quiet enchantments and its calm acceptance of everything the sea and sky
pitch at it.
We go to your church every Sunday. It’s a small one, as most community churches are. Pastor Rene welcomes us by the door. He’s barely taller than I, an Ivatan who finished his Bible
school in Manila. The first time we visited, he and Ferdinand were deep in conversation immediately, as if they were long-lost friends. A woman, wide everywhere, approached us after the service.
When she smiled, her eyes crinkled to little slits.
